Blue Notes From Soviet Underground

LENINGRAD — It's like stepping out of a time machine and into a dormitory room belonging to the hippest guy on any American college campus, circa 1972.

Posters of the Beatles and David Bowie dress the walls. Cassettes monopolize a bookshelf. A bottle of wine stands atop a table flecked with candle drippings. No two pieces of furniture match.

The apartment belongs to Boris Grebenshchikov, leader of Leningrad's coalition of semiofficial musicians who play rock or avant-garde jazz.

Grebenshchikov inhabits a musical netherworld between government- sanctione d groups that regularly receive studio time and concert dates, and artists relegated by political tastes or talent to a career of living room performances for friends.

Privately recorded tapes of Grebenshchikov's rock band, Aquarium (pronounced ''Akvarium'' in Russian), are traded in the underground market throughout the Soviet Union.

From as far away as Siberia, fans have climbed the graffiti-covered stairwell leading to Grebenshchikov's central Leningrad flat, like pilgrims to a musical mecca, expressing their support.

One recent night, Grebenshchikov was joined by Sergei Kuryakhin, leader of Leningrad's cutting edge jazz ensemble, Popular Mechanics. Kuryakhin, the kind of modern pianist whose hands are never still, spent the evening tapping complex rhythms on the table, chairs and a handy cup or saucer.

''When lots of people began discovering our music, listening to our music, it became impossible to keep us completely out,'' Grebenshchikov said of his band.

The members of Aquarium, all in their 30s, have played together for more than six years. Grebenshchikov's songs range from brooding, Bob Dylanesque ballads to full-powered rockers that are sometimes infused with chromatic changes borrowed from jazz.

''Two systems were created,'' he said. ''I think the fact that there is 'official' music almost requires that there be some kind of 'unofficial' music, too.''

Grebenshchikov said Soviet cultural authorities tolerate bands like Aquarium, within limits, because they help ''let off pressure'' to avert ''cracks in the system.''

Confines remain. After a Dec. 10 concert, Kuryakhin was summoned by city Communist Party officials and warned that his group might be banned.

Kuryakhin, at times, satisfies his creative needs with solos that tenderly caress Gershwin. But when performing out front of the Popular Mechanics big band, he can be fairly outrageous.

But the musical experimentation and on-stage theatrics are not just for effect.

Artists like Grebenshchikov and Kuryakhin are testing the limits of the system. Their music is important because it helps explain Soviet society -- not from the inside, like Kremlinology, but by defining the borders of what is permitted.

Grebenshchikov maintains his songs are exclusively non-political. He has had trouble convincing the censors of this, however.

''Most often, the censors feared a hidden meaning, so anything that was not immediately understandable was banned at once,'' he said. ''They would ask, 'What is this song about?' and I would say that it is poetry. But they would say, 'No, poetry is published in books.' ''

Leningrad musicians have since banded together to form a sanctioned ''Rock Club,'' which has a pair of employees empowered to approve lyrics, book recital halls and promote concerts.

The new union appears to be mutually beneficial. Groups otherwise excluded from public performances are given a forum, and authorities have a measure of control that is preferable to letting the movement flower unchecked.

The uneasy truce with cultural officials extends to occasional concerts in larger auditoriums. Theater managers who fall below state plans for ticket sales know they can hire bands like Aquarium and Popular Mechanics to draw sellout crowds.

Bigger local halls, like the Palace of Culture, book semi-official acts when they want to sell lots of tickets, Grebenshchikov said.

He expressed disdain for popular, official Soviet rock bands, including some of those that helped draw 30,000 people to a May 30 benefit for victims of the Chernobyl reactor accident.

The musical quests of these official and semiofficial bands often sound derivative of Western groups, and the debate over rock 'n' roll exerting a corrupting influence was mostly resolved decades ago in America.

Grebenshchikov claims he has passed beyond worries of commercial success or official acceptance, though.

''I don't care if my songs are approved or not. I don't care if I'm official or not,'' he said. ''I don't have much money, but I have everything else. Lots of people listen to my music, and lots of people will continue to listen to my music.''